


Nužudymas

by bonelines, howlscastle



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Kink, Blood blood and more blood, Blow Jobs, Can you two just have sex already, Choking, Cum Play, Daddy Kink, Did We Mention Blood?, Dirty Dancing, Dom/sub Play, Exhibitionism, Hair Pulling, Hand Jobs, Kitten!Will, Knife Kink, M/M, Nightclub, Public Sex, Stabbing, Stripping, Thank god Nigel forgot he had a gun, Threats, Topping from the Bottom, Vampire!Will, Violence, Wound Play, chasing kink, dark!Will, dub con, nigel being nigel, raw fucking, threatening behaviour, young!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6660607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonelines/pseuds/bonelines, https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlscastle/pseuds/howlscastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>What if Will Graham was a young, minxy vampire and picked the wrong man to feast on?</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nužudymas

Night. It welcomes him with soft caresses— long fingers and forearms outstretched, painted in the twinkle of stars. On yes, the night has always kissed Will sweeter than any lover ever has.

 

Tonight, he buries himself in the loud thrum of music and dancing bodies, cloaked in his carefully-kept facade, but he is propelled with only the want to consume. Every body that surrounds Will and moves to the beat of the music’s bass can only distract him so much, when it is the beating of each heart around him that _truly_ fills his thoughts. Indeed, his head sways back and forth over his narrow shoulders as he listens to the song of blood.

 

This nightclub in particular is one that he’s frequented, always jumping back and forth between a few that continue to bear fruitful results, but this happens to be his favorite. High-ceilings and mirrored walls are lined with flashing lights but aside from those, the rest of the club remains dimly-lit. It’s a fairly sizeable place, compared to others that neighbor it. In the middle of the largest room, people crush together in a steamy crowd where bodies twist into erotic patterns that glow and fade under the strobing beams. It’s packed so tightly that there is hardly space enough to cut through and walk to either end of the building, where two separate bars line opposite walls. There are various booths and leather seating surrounding the dance floor, tucked into the shadows for when the heat and the drinks and the press of flesh become all-too-overwhelming.

 

And the best part about this nightclub?

 

It’s always full.

 

Full of people talking and laughing, pressed close as they drink and dance with one another; a sea of bodies all moving to the same lustful rhythms. It’s the perfect setting for Will when he is _hungry_ — far from being considered a picky-eater, he certainly enjoys having a variety to choose from and the crowd makes it easier to pick someone off and disappear with them. Usually, to their homes, where Will would take his fill, all before promptly leaving, as if he’d never been there at all, the corpse left behind being his only calling card. Sex, if it happens, is just a bonus. Sometimes it’s _almost_ good enough to make Will feel bad for what he does - for what he is - but it’s not like he can just let them _go_.

 

Tonight, however, it only takes all-of fifteen minutes for Will to find his target. He’s tall and strapped with muscle that evenly lines every hard angle of his body under the fabric of his clothes. His expression is akin to focused fire, but his voice remains low as his elbow leans heavily against the surface of the bar while he makes conversation with the person seated next to him. Flaxen hair that borders on silver in hue hangs over eyes that are a dark amber in color from where they sit above the cradle of sharp cheekbones. When light catches them just-so, there’s an almost blood-red glow to the man’s gaze that is absolutely delicious.

 

Will has to have him.

 

He’s already chosen this man by the time Will makes his way through the crowd of dancing bodies to approach the very same bar, pressing in on the other side of the stranger and reaching out to graze the ghost of a touch against his side in a silent request to _make room_ as Will leans just enough over the counter to order himself a drink.

 

 _Oh yes_ , the touch had been quite deliberate— barely there, but still a demand for this mystery-man’s attention to be directed towards Will, who stands squeezed in close beside him amongst the many people occupying the space surrounding the bar.

 

“Sometimes I think coffins have more wiggle-room than this place ever does,” Will says, then, punctuating his words with the smallest wiggle of his hips to shimmy himself closer to the bar as he waits for his drink, a smirk thrown in the man’s direction, whose head swivels around, gaze narrowed and full of indignant fire that simply reads, ‘ _Who the fuck are you to touch me?’_

 

The look is one that quickly slides off, only to be replaced by an awed sort of pause that Will is no stranger to. Yes, the boy knows the thrall he holds for the right prey—  all bright, blue eyes, blushed skin, and soft, cupid lips over features that are framed in dark, messy curls.

 

Will squirms with an innocence than can turn wicked in a wink.

 

It’s then that the taller man turns his whole body around. Broad shoulders twist and are lazily followed by narrow hips that shift as polished boots direct themselves towards this new, young thing. His blood-honey gaze traces up and down the lines of the boy’s body with overt lavaciousness and, with a smirk, leans a heavy hand against the bar - thick forearm flexed as his neck rolls, just the once, before he throws the boy his own killer smile, sharp canines flashing under full lips.

 

“Coffins. Rather morbid conversation-starter for such a pretty little thing such as yourself, hm?” An accent rolls each word from the curl of his tongue, thick and full. European, perhaps? Indefinable, but certainly exotic, which only serves to draw up another squirm from the boy.

 

He has connections here. Will’s eyes drop just to catch the way the taller man taps two long fingers on the bar, indicating to the bartender that Will’s drinks are on the house— for now.

 

“And if you keep wiggling those little hips of yours just right, you just might get the whole fucking night on the house.” This new acquaintance’s voice is smooth and low when directed towards Will, but what seems courtious, is not without reason. He slowly leans down and curls a single finger under Will’s chin, guiding him close enough to better murmur against the shell of his ear. It draws chills to climb their way up the charts of Will’s back and he can’t help but respond by pressing just the smallest bit closer, waiting on each word that comes next. “Now, why don’t you tell me your fucking name... and your fucking angle.”

 

It’s clear that anyone who approaches this man with such brass is either stupid, or after something— there’s a glint in Will’s eyes that ignites with the harsh bite of each word that makes it very clear that he isn’t stupid.

 

And, in being as close as they are now, Will can smell blood— sharp, bitter, and burning as it overwhelms his senses and has his nostrils flaring with the urge to breathe in more. It’s not a fresh scent, but it’s certainly not fully-healed and, judging from the reaction Will had gotten upon initially pressing in against the man’s side and the way Nigel had been previously been leaning, however casual, with elbow against the bar, Will can begin to gauge just where this wound is located.

 

It had to have been something near-fatal and it must have been gouged into his flesh only a couple week-or-so prior. It’s not new enough to hinder him entirely, or keep the man bedridden, but just enough to twist pain in his gut when it’s touched. Will figures that, if he were to brush over it again, this stranger is the type who would likely put _Will_ in a fucking coffin no matter _how_ fuckable his mouth is, or how much he sways his hips for drinks.

 

“Will,” he starts, giving his name without much hesitation, lips turned up in a grin. “And if you give me your name, then I’ll tell you what my ‘ _fucking angle_ ’ is.”

 

The other, however, hesitates just enough that Will can feel it, his name hovering just on the tip of his tongue as he considers. If he has reason enough to hide it, Will has reason enough to want to know it even more. It’s only after a moment’s pause that the stranger finally offers, “Nigel,” and then eases back to standing, dragging his cheek along the line the boy’s jaw as an extended pointed finger traces down the column of Will’s throat, coming to rest on the line of his bare collarbone. Nigel winks once, before pressing his finger in and dragging it down, forcing a button open in one smooth motion. _Who said dominance can’t be fucking gentle, eh?_

 

Will values the display far more than he values the button that had once been attached to his shirt— a sudden spike in arousal bringing him to match the arch of Nigel’s brow, who currently looms over him like some kind of Greek God, all shoulders and wide planted thighs as he waits for Will to continue. And Nigel does _not_ like waiting. With a single hand, he balances a cigarette between his lips, flicks his lighter and inhales a thick plume of smoke, eyebrow cocked.

 

“Right, ‘ _fucking angles_ ’,” Will picks up again, tongue petting over the curve of his mouth, as he releases a sigh, head turning away from the other when his drink is placed onto the counter. He takes it between nimble fingers and takes a swig that burns his throat pleasantly on its way down, before the glass is returned back to the wooden surface with a small ‘ _clink_.’ Another pause, this time from Will, before eyes are brought back to train on Nigel’s once again and the next word is purred out past the line of pearly white teeth. “Blood.”

 

When the last word is spoken, Will presses closer and gazes up into Nigel’s feral stare, before reaching out to ghost the pads of his fingers along Nigel’s side— starting from the cage of wide ribs, to wind their way down like playing the keys of a piano, and ending their journey just against the v-shaped dip of the other man’s hip. Will feels it in passing; long and jagged down the length of Nigel’s flank, with braille-raised notches to count every stitch, where his skin had been sewn back together to close the seam. The fabric of the man’s shirt makes it hard to tell, but Will has to guess that it’d be inflicted by a knife of some kind. Nigel’s shuddering flinch steals away his chance to touch him any further.

 

He moves so quickly that Will hardly has time to react. A powerful hand clasps tight over Will’s wrist, fingertips pressing between tendons as he pulls Will’s hand away from where it had rested against his hip, yanking and bending it just enough to inflict a sharp pain that aches all the way up his arm and elicits a tiny gasp in response. The bone strains under such a vice, twisted uncomfortably, but still held beneath eye-level as to not draw attention to the crowd of people in the surrounding area.

 

From where he stands before Will, Nigel looks absolutely furious, but Will knows the truth of it— he isn’t furious because it had hurt, he’s furious because he had _enjoyed_ it. The rapid heart beat and the rise in Nigel’s body temperature tells the boy _all_ he needs to know about this angry God before him. Nigel’s eyes widen in response, before the angry grip tightens and wrenches him up harder and the resulting sound of pain that tumbles from Will’s lips falls louder this time as surprise makes him unable to stifle it.

 

Will loves it. He wants more. He wants _everything._

 

Pain flowers out deliciously to kick-start his nerve endings and bruise his flesh in a way that he’s sure would paint the canvas of his skin in the most beautiful way. Under the violence of this touch, and the others to come, Will would only contort himself further in Nigel’s grasp in the effort to drive his need home. Later, he wants to have more marks to admire, left behind by this man over every plane of his body.

 

“Are you going to hurt me, Nigel?” he asks on a soft, breathy whine and it’s coupled with the hint of a smirk, with voice low enough to that no one else hears. With that, Will slips his free hand into the space between them and boldly cups it over the crotch of the other’s pants, fingers curving over where Nigel’s cock is to palm him for a moment. Nigel’s eyes close and his head twists with a groan that huffs out like a low grunt in his throat, hips canting just slightly, before Will’s teasing touch slides up to his uninjured side and draws the two of them to press closer— enough to feel one another’s body heat. The lewd motion is one that nobody could have really noticed, what with the dim lighting and the large, tightly-packed hoards of other bodies filling the club.

 

Nigel nods with a low chuckle, head lolled to the side as he smiles warmly at the boy, a hand coming up to graze Will’s face and play with his hair, before finally snatching a fistful of messy dark curls and snapping the boy’s head back to the sound of another surprised yelp. Will hisses with it, but Nigel just keeps tugging, baring Will’s milk-white throat and sinking him down beneath his looming height, Nigel’s jaw craning as his blood-honey gaze bores down into the other. “Wrong fucking question, sweetheart. I’d say I am already hurting you, eh?”

 

The taller man keeps fingers wound tight in Will’s hair as he spins him around, wrapping the opposite arm over his narrow waist to keep hold as Will begins to struggle and strain against him— futile attempts in the face of the older man’s strength. Still, Nigel can’t help but let slip a low sigh at the way the wiggling whore feels against the hard planes of his body... supple, fluid, and quick. Will gives another snarl in protest, but Nigel is quick to shove the boy through the crowd and towards the dance floor, even as the hissed sounds of pain make way for needy begging.

 

What Nigel _can’t_ see is the smirk that toys over Will’s lips as he pleads for the man’s touch to soften, a flicker of excitement igniting in his belly when this game played between the two of them intensifies.

 

A good hunter has to know how to play prey.

 

As they make their way to the center of the dance-floor, amidst a writhing mess of bodies, he keeps Will pressed against him tightly as Nigel begins rolling his hips forward against the boy’s pert little ass in time with the pulse of the bass— it bounces off either of the walls and makes the floor beneath them hum pleasantly. The taller of the two uses the width of his body to sway them back and forth as he snarls against Will’s ear, “Now the _right_ fucking question is - how _much_ I am going to hurt you.” Nigel is made instantly aware that it had been the _perfect_ question, as Will shivers involuntarily under his touch, goosebumps raising under the grasp of long fingers, despite the sweltering heat.

 

Nigel’s thickly-corded arm and greedy hand slide further down to cover the boy’s hip, fingertips playing over the protruding bone as he holds Will there and they continue to grind into one another amongst the many others that surround them, doing just the same. It’s not long, before long fingers hook and drag themselves down the front of Will’s shirt in one swipe, popping each button open to reveal a perfectly smooth chest, ribs rising and falling on each shuddering breath that he takes. Flashing lights reflect off each plane of pale skin, between where shirt is parted, and Nigel wastes no time palming _everywhere_ with a soft sound humming low in his throat.

 

“Now, make Daddy happy and fucking dance— then, maybe, we’ll get to the _blood_.” Nigel casts off the boy enough to put space between them now, but his body keeps swaying, gaze drawing Will in like a dancing cobra; waiting for his next move.

 

And, _oh_ , does Will ever fall for the thrall.

 

Narrow shoulders roll and his shirt is dropped from the bow of them to quickly tie around his hips by the sleeves, all before Will moves in and loops a bare arm over Nigel’s broad shoulders, using the man as his anchor as he slips a slim thigh between Nigel’s legs and moves against him in steady motions. Bright blue eyes that glow ultraviolet under the lights throw a coquettish glance towards the other as Will starts to dance up, against, and around Nigel with narrow hips pressing in and torso leaned back, all to expose the lean lines of muscle and bone that’s just _begging_ to be marked.

 

While Will’s hips roll in towards Nigel’s in fluid sweeps of his lithe form, he continues to tempt out the violence that is to clearly lurking just under the surface of the other’s darkened gaze. And, just as predicted, Nigel responds to the siren’s call and slips the touch of hungry fingers over Will’s thin collarbone, blunt nails leaving red trails down silken-skinned chest.

 

As the red welts darken and begin to bloom out with the sweet hint of fine, bloody tendrils Nigel begins to think that _maybe_ he doesn’t want this boy for just one single night— or even one week, or a year. No, he wants to keep Will entirely for himself to indulge in and nobody else - to both pamper and punish him in all the ways that he is sure the boy craves, and then some. Where others have limits, Nigel only has his instincts.

 

A wide motion brings Will’s torso upwards and his soft, wet lips to press against the line of Nigel’s jaw whilst his groin grinds against the taller man’s thick thigh. He dips and licks over Nigel’s Adam’s Apple all while he swallows thickly under the boy’s needy and quite aggressive advances.

 

Will can feel the race of Nigel’s pulse beating hot against his lips and it takes everything in him not to _bite—_ at least not _yet_.

 

Nigel’s large hands roam indiscreetly now, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over pert nipples to send shivers right down to Will’s pulsing groin, causing his pelvis to stutter mid-thrust as they continue to move with the music and the other bodies that surround them. Every part of Will is aching and hungry now. It’s no longer simple blood-lust he is drinking from this man.

 

No, Will won’t be done with Nigel until he has had his fun as well.  

 

Teeth nipping at the Nigel’s jaw, Will mewls, “Fair is only fair _Daddy,”_ in answer, as nimble fingers make quick work of undoing Nigel’s shirt, before they head straight for the wound he’d brushed over previously. Fingertips dig in just enough to purposefully draw up small, fresh beads of blood that Will quickly brings to his parted mouth, painting his pink lips and tongue red with the color of alarming red. “Kiss me. Tell me _how much_ you are going to hurt me,” and Will’s tone is nearing desperate now, edging close to pleading as he purrs through the sharp metal taste.

 

No matter how wanton Will is - Nigel, however, is tense. His muscles go rigid as a cold sweat settles in, brief and uncomfortable. The feeling is coupled with a pain that Nigel can’t afford to show here - at least not in public - and Will can sense it, the brunet huffing a laugh in answer, delighting entirely in Nigel’s Achilles heel. Anger boils to the forefront, quickly followed by shock and arousal at the boy’s display, and it paints itself vividly across Nigel’s face. Storming and heated emotions tug his lips up into a sneer, but the boy promptly wipes the expression off of him by pressing their mouths back together.

 

Time seems to pause here, briefly, as the world is stilled and silenced with a warm sigh.

 

Strobes and thudding waves of sound break the moment like fine china being sent to plummet down towards hardwood floors. The crash that follows and sends mismatched chips of porcelain flying is one that tugs violence out of the two of them, poised and ready.

 

Nigel is panting hard into the space between them, barely able to maintain the kiss and Will’s tongue takes advantage, slipping over his full lips and dipping into the cavern of Nigel’s mouth to continue writing his taste to memory. This only serves to draw a growl from the older man— no matter how _sweet_ that tongue is as it scours the inside of his mouth, the boy is still very clearly taking advantage of his weakness. Nigel flexes his hands, entirely ready to slap the boy off, but before he can strike, Will’s pelvis shimmies down the length of Nigel’s Herculean body, nearly dropping to bended knee right before the man.

 

Blue eyes turn upwards with a wicked glint as his mouth comes to rest just over Nigel’s wound, tongue lathing along the rough line of torn flesh and lapping up the blood that wells up there. The hot, ferric taste possesses the boy entirely, overwhelming everything else and sending a warm flush through his body as his eyes roll back in his head with a whimpering moan. Teeth worry the stitches to quicken the flow and Will starts to quake with the weight of his need.

 

It’s all just a game— Nigel is something fun to play with, before he can quell his hunger, but the instinct to keep going, even while cradled in the swell of dancing bodies, is almost too much to ignore for any longer.

 

And as for Nigel? He’s well-acquainted with the pleasures that coincide with pain, but he has far too much pride to allow his expression to betray the sharp ache he feels.

 

Large hands stroke through Will’s hair in a rare moment of tenderness and so, he takes it as his cue to lift his hand and palm over Nigel’s thick cock that is strains an obvious line through the front of his trousers. As Will’s palming grows faster and the wet slide of his tongue drags, once again, over the sting of Nigel’s wound side, the taller man’s head falls forward as he hisses out a series of obscenities. It’s good - _fuck_ , is it ever good - but the boy is toying with him to see just how far he can push and Nigel doesn’t entirely appreciate it.

 

The only warning that’s given is hips tilting to back away from Will’s hand, before Nigel kicks the boy off of him, moving quickly and allowing the other no time to react, before Will falls back and the crowd parts to make room for their scuffle. Fights are common enough in places like this and people know better than to interfere with a man like Nigel’s business.

 

However, Will appears as though he couldn’t be more pleased— head tipping back as he laughs with delight and tries to promptly collect himself.

 

With a hand gripping his side where his irritated wound continues to well blood against his shirt, Nigel steps forwards with long legs and presses the heel of his step against the boy’s chest to keep him in place, bearing down and grinding his boot just enough to add further pressure. Will’s laughter only lilts up on a pleased sound, lips pulled back into a wicked grin as he squirms under this angry god of a man’s weight, reaching down to palm over his own cock in a filthy display for all to see. It’s just the kind of depravity that Will revels in - craves it constantly - and those in the crowd of dancing people that choose to ignore it turn their heads away, while others choose to watch on with curious eyes that peer in from the dark.

 

Will couldn’t care less about the voyeurs that surround them; he is an exhibitionist at heart.

 

Entirely possessive and jealous, Nigel won't have others looking on what he has already claimed as _his_. He finally lifts his foot with an arch of his brow - a dark, burning fury settled in his gaze that is ready to spill over, but Will moves the second he is allowed leeway. Hand shoves Nigel’s foot away, only to reach out and hook fingers over the taller man’s belt to assist himself up from the floor and, as if in perfect harmony, Nigel offers helping hands to bring Will back into a standing position. 

 

It’s slow-moving at first when they begin moving through the masses of others. Their lips meet in another searing kiss, tongues battling for dominance as Will allows himself to be walked backwards, their knees bumping into one another and shoes shuffling against the floor as they stumble through to the other end of the club. With a quick shift of limbs and huffs of breath, Nigel hoists Will up with hands that slip underneath his thighs - the boy follows without question, hitching long legs around the man’s waist so that he may move them easier through the club. The pain in Nigel’s side is now a welcome sensation and Will continues to writhe against him, hands in his hair and arms draped over strong shoulders as he kisses into his mouth.

 

Far be it from Will to complain if his dinner wants to carry him to the table.

 

Bodies pressed tight as people dance with one another, they shift and scatter like ants out of the way as they go, until Nigel draws near a darkened booth - the largest in the club, and it’s lined with leather couches, mirrored walls, framed in heavy velvet drapes. Inside the booth, Will allows his feet to hit the floor once again and Nigel backs himself to sit on leather cushions, pulling the boy down with him so that he is straddling his lap. Nigel moves quickly, like any well-trained predator, and flicks out a penknife before they’ve even had too much a chance to get comfortable, teasing Will’s side with the edge of the blade.

 

“ _Fair is only fair, Gorgeous_.”

 

No, Will is not being held prisoner in any way - at least not _yet_ \- and even with a knife at his side, the boy does not flinch. Upon reading Will’s further-heightened desire for pain in the way that he squirms and whines in the man’s lap, Nigel smirks and presses the blade to just barely kiss into the other’s smooth flank and drags it down at an agonizingly slow pace. Flesh carves like cream in its wake, splits open to allow blood to well into beads of carmine red, all before the color cuts painted paths down the planes of pale skin and down the steel of the knife’s handle to collect over the pad of Nigel’s thumb.

 

It’s the overwhelming scent of blood that suddenly has the boy swooning, not the pain— the pain is just a lovely bonus.

 

“You are a filthy little thing - aren’t you, kitten, eh?” Nigel’s voice purrs out again and Will only answers with another kiss, angling himself to force the blade even deeper as he starts to rut against the man whose lap he currently straddles.

 

Knife is quickly forgotten then, toppling to the wayside and over the edge of the seat to clatter to the floor below when Nigel reaches to cradle Will’s jaw with both hands, leaving smears of blood down the slope of his perfect cheeks. Plush lips and wicked tongue take over Will’s mouth, every kiss and every touch pressed into the space between them, only serving to take each action from needy to absolutely _frenzied_. Teeth graze down lips, before they clink back together again as tongues tangle and slide amidst the heated pants and groans that each of them huff out.   

 

As both men rut and grope on the couch in the booth that remains empty, save for the two of them, their injuries brush together and instantly draw up sharp gasps of blissful pain, passion spiralling out like a hot tornado between them. Will slips his hand down, rips open Nigel’s belt and zipper so as to free his cock and wrap nimble fingers around the girth of it. Every stroke of his palm elicits a guttural groan from the slowly arching man beneath him as Nigel pulls away from their kiss to meet the boy’s gaze.

 

“I’ll bet your blood isn’t the only thing that tastes good, _Daddy._ ” Will says then, tongue passing over his own lips as he punctuates his words with a smirk.

 

The thought of that soft, bloodstained mouth taking him in as Will’s silken throat gags around his cock has Nigel hissing a low, “Fuck,” before thighs spread to eagerly accommodate Will’s touch. Nigel’s hand presses into dark curls, guiding the boy down between his legs, and Will doesn’t hesitate - swallowing Nigel’s hefty length in a single, hot suck. Cheeks hollow, head bobs and teeth tease against velvet skin— it’s the perfect distraction as Will’s arm snakes up and fingers extend to worry over the rigid line of the gash at Nigel’s side. The larger man arches violently with a grunt in answer to the sting of it, but doesn’t push Will off this time, his mind too much of a lust-riddled mess to do anything but sink into sensation. Agony and ecstasy tangle together under the boy’s hand, until the two are indistinguishable and it’s in this moment, that Nigel knows that he cannot live without the boy currently orchestrating such a heady combination of the two feelings.

 

Nigel watches, eyes hooded and lips just barely parted as Will blows him. Nigel watches and encourages on low, panted words, but when one of his stitches are plucked free by thin and quick fingers, Nigel moves quickly to shove the boy off of him once again with a snarl, finally caving and doubling over from the pain. Will can only huff out another laugh as he watches Nigel clamp one hand over his own side to apply pressure to the wound there, whilst the other hand squeezes fingers tight around his swollen cock to stop himself from coming right then and there. He’s flushed and every expanse of the man’s skin is on fire as Nigel looks up towards the ceiling with gritted teeth, as though waiting for some kind of divine intervention, which only leads the boy to chortle more.

 

Upon catching his breath, Nigel stands up, staggering on powerful legs to slide the velvet drapes  of the booth shut. Though tucked against the shadowed edges of the nightclub, and though it’s clear that neither he nor Will really care who may see them, it elicits a thrill in the both of them to be closed off from the eyes of everyone else - to feel cornered. In a flash, Nigel turns on Will and lunges, just as he springs to escape, hooking long fingers over the hem of the boy’s pants and dragging him back, before he can ever really get that far. For the sake of playing along and prolonging the chase, Will rolls onto his back and attempts to kick him off, but small feet merely slip against the wall of muscle that they make contact with and Nigel is able to snap a grip over one of his ankles to tug him in closer.

 

“I am pretty sure your ass will feel just as good as your mouth when it’s around my cock,” Nigel teases then, warping the other’s previous words and taunting him with them. Without ceremony, he yanks down Will’s pants, turning the boy to bend him over the seat as he curls a muscled arm around his throat, choking him as he uses fingers that glisten with a mixture of both their blood to push and curl inside Will’s clenching hole. Will’s eyes blink wide and he mouths a silent moan of aching pleasure as he is breached, squirming and whining as he tries to get away, while never _really_ wanting out— Nigel’s scissoring fingers feel far too good for him to actually leave now.

 

“That’s it, kitten… you don’t want out, do you? I can feel you here.” Nigel’s long and probing fingers thrust in again and Will cries out with the motion, fingers digging into the leather of the couch he leans over, but his cock twitches and throbs against his belly, giving away his pleasure he takes from this game that they play. He claws to try and pull himself away from Nigel’s immovable grip, the struggle only exciting the both of them more.

 

“Nigel— please.” Will mewls.

 

“Please what, kitten?” The larger man rams his fingers deeper again, curling both digits inside of Will to brush over that rigid expanse of flesh that would cause the boy to fall weak and yield completely. And, oh, does it work. The sound that Will releases this time tumbles from his throat, before he can even attempt to mask it in another tone— desperate, undeniable need brings Will to spread his legs with spine arched, presenting himself fully to Nigel.

 

“I thought so... Greedy kitten, show me your claws. _Come on_.” He is absolutely goading now as Will can’t help but roll his ass back against Nigel’s palm while he fingers him.

 

It’s good and Will is a delight to watch as he is consumed by his lust, but Nigel quickly tires of this game and slides his fingers out, ignoring the protests at the loss, before Nigel pushes down his own pants and positions himself to enter the boy. With a sudden, twisting flash of movement, Will turns to slam the earlier-discarded knife deep into the older man’s thigh, forcing him back and to the ground to collapse with a winded grunt, fire igniting in his eyes.

 

“What the fuck!” It’s snapped out as Nigel’s powerful hands clutch at his thigh, writhing and wincing at the bright, stinging pain that sets all of his nerves on fire.

 

Will doesn’t miss a beat. Agile in all that he does, he rips the knife out from where it sits, lodged in Nigel’s thigh, before he brings it up to press the blade cold and threatening against the man’s throat, pinning him there. Will looms over him, eyebrows arched as if to ask, ‘ _Are these kitten’s claws enough?’_

 

Nigel’s chest is heaving with ragged breaths as the cool, slippery metal plays over his jugular when he swallows. All he can do is watch as Will strips himself completely, baring pale and naked flesh to the dark of the booth, before he has the fucking audacity to climb over him and tease Nigel’s still-aching cock with a roll of his hips.

 

But rather than riding him right away, Will leans over Nigel and takes the time to swipe a wet tongue over the blood that collects and runs from the new gash in his thigh, before winding back up and doing just the same to the older wound below heaving ribs. Will knows he has the man right where he wants him as Nigel just lies there, hissing through clenched teeth.

 

Finding a moment of strength, Nigel seeks his own pleasure from skirting fingers up to press a painful touch over the line he’d cut previously into Will’s flank with the knife, before Nigel brings his hand to his mouth and paints his own lips red, tentatively tasting the boy’s blood that is left there. It’s with this action, that Will’s head snaps up with a sudden and very serious level of intensity that Nigel can’t quite place.

 

The deed is done— upon consuming his blood, Nigel would belong to Will now, entirely.

 

 _Forever_.

 

Now it’s Will’s turn to lunge and kiss his blood off the older man’s lips, a feral moan crawling up from the chasm of his throat as their mouths are brought together, teeth clashing with violent need.

 

“I taste good on you.” Will purrs with a dark grin as he moves, shifting a bit further up Nigel’s body and winding fingers through flaxen hair as he forces Nigel’s head against the wound he had left on the boy’s torso. “I won’t ride you until you suck, _Daddy._ ”

 

And as Nigel does so, eagerly running his tongue through the ribbons of red that paint themselves over the boy’s flesh, Will draws away just enough to sink down onto his cock, working himself up and down Nigel’s shaft with a low and shuddering groan. Will rides him with abandon, hips rolling and hands reaching out to draw Nigel in for another kiss - he brings the man to sit up so that Will can kiss down into his mouth and further taste himself on Nigel’s tongue as he continues to fuck himself down onto his erection. The air is thick and weighed-down with the heat of sex and the copper scent of blood when Will dips down, mouth skirting over the side of Nigel’s throat, before he sinks razor-sharp teeth into the thick band of muscle, just where neck meets shoulder.

 

“Oh god.” Nigel’s hips spasm up, eyes rolling back into heavy lids.

 

Will smiles against the other’s skin as he sucks at the blood that wells up in the wake of his teeth, pausing briefly when Nigel’s hips stutter beneath him in answer. A heavy hand clamps suddenly over the back of his head and forces him back down, urging him to continue— the thrill of that, alone, fills Will with far more pleasure than any fucking, or feeding ever could.

 

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop, kitten.” Nigel begs him.

 

And Will doesn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- not now. Not ever.


End file.
